


Independence Day

by extraordinary_fangrl



Series: Not So Little Moments [4]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Diabetes, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Future Fic, Mike Wheeler Is a Little Shit, Mike Wheeler Loves Eleven | Jane Hopper, Mileven, Not So Little Moments, Post-Canon, Protective Parent Jim "Chief" Hopper, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and, and theres MORE, jopper is hinted at, mike wheeler is the softest husband, nslms part 4, that is going to give you, will byers - Freeform, yet another
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27864658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extraordinary_fangrl/pseuds/extraordinary_fangrl
Summary: After receiving a letter from his father, Mike learns the most important rule of fatherhood.Part 4 of Not So Little Moments!
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Eleven | Jane Hopper & Mike Wheeler, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Mike Wheeler, Jim "Chief" Hopper & Mike Wheeler
Series: Not So Little Moments [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1449016
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Independence Day

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to Not So Little Moments!
> 
> Fun fact: I started writing this part as soon as I published chapter 2 of Baby It's Cold Outside. Guess you could say I was (and still am, tbh) possessed by the Holiday Spirit! Plus, something about writing the present-day storyline - especially with fluffy, domestic Milieven - just fills me with all the FEELS.
> 
> Hopefully your heart doesn't burst for the second time. Make sure to let me know if I made you smile! I love hearing from you guys!

**Bloomington, Indiana**

**September 23, 1996**

Becoming a father was never something Mike envisioned for his future. When he was a kid, the very thought of even embracing a girl other than his mother and sisters made him want to lock himself away in his room. Then he met El, and everything he thought he knew about himself shifted. Suddenly, he wanted to have a girlfriend. He wanted to hug her, hold her hand, treat her the way guys treated their princesses in those stories Holly used to obsess over. 

Those fuzzy feelings developed from the infatuation his parents had such unfiltered opinions on, settling into a tenderness he had never shared with anyone else. A fondness that would once again shift into another form once the baby came. _His baby_ \- an actual, living being he had created with the **love of his** **_life_**. The thought still blew his mind, even after they had passed the halfway point in El’s pregnancy. Each day just brought on new surprises, challenges, **feelings**. Today was no different. 

Mike stared down the envelope, his gaze narrowed in a glare so hot he was sure the paper would shrivel into ash. Along with the cash or whatever sad, old words tainted the pure, perfectly good piece of paper. He didn’t care what it was either way. In fact, he would’ve been more than happy to trash it and tell El it got misplaced, just like the invitation to their wedding. But there was one - okay, fine - _were_ two things wrong with that plan. 

First, her bullshit detector was out of this world, vulnerable to even the most inconsequential lies. He learned that the hard way, more times than he cared to admit. Second, a sliver of him would regret tossing it before he got the chance to reveal the contents. That way, if it was another check he could at least add it to their funds for a bigger place. Or deride the letter if it was penitent - **which had a probability of one and ten** \- before ripping it to pieces. 

In any case, it could never soothe the searing sting of his own heart tearing in two. 

It was like the universe knew Mike needed a distraction, because a pair of knocks shook the walls, pulling him from his stasis. He shot up from his desk, leaving the seat swirling in his wake as he trudged into the living room. He stopped at the kitchen, raising a brow at El as she stood behind the counter, peeling away the lid from a jar of peanut butter. 

“Who’s at the door?” 

She shot him an innocent shrug, blinking those pure, honey eyes before folding her waffle slice into the thick, creamy paste. 

He resumed his pace, heaving a low exhale as he scratched at the patch of skin over his nape. Another pound had rattled the apartment, but it barely made a dent in his trudging. His mind was a maze, torn on whether to question the ghost of a smile he had sworn he’d seen plastered on his wife’s face or who (and what) was behind their front door. Thankfully, both were answered as soon as he removed the lock and twisted the handle. Yet, it didn’t stop his vision from distorting to accommodate the rapid fluttering of his eyes. 

They seized on the fourth aperture, settling on the same pair of pale blue eyes, a twinkle in them despite the vacancy in the rest of his features. 

“Y’know, as much as we appreciate your visits, our landlord _doesn’t_.” 

“ **Dale** should be more worried ‘bout puttin’ a plate on that piece of shit he calls a motor, before I get it towed,” Jim countered, heaving a heavy snort as he stomped inside. 

El shuffled over once he shut the door, and he opened his arms wide to accommodate her baby bump, craning his head to plant a quick kiss in her hair.

“And I enjoy checking up on you and the kiddo, kid. But I’m here for your other half. It’s past time we celebrate his new title.”

Mike ogled at Jim like he had spawned two more heads. Then, within the same beat, he pulled a face and threw his head back toward the ceiling. 

“Really? _Another_ fishing trip?” 

If male bonding had a poster child, fishing would be its pride and joy. Hopper sure was a fan, taking weekend trips to the lake as soon as he returned to Hawkins. Mike, on the contrary, never saw the charm. Fishing required athleticism he didn’t possess, even though it was at a minimum. And - as the past had taught him time and time **again** , reeling in one of those squamous buggers took all the patience in the world. 

Patience he had yet to acquire.

...

Patience he needed to be a _da_ _d_.

“Oh, wow! Nice one.” Mike deadpanned. “But I think I have the “patience” thing covered at work. Y’know, long hours, mostly desk work and taking lunch orders.”

Jim cocked his head, his eyes narrowing with a hushed challenge. “Oh yeah? You still working weekends?”

“Until the baby comes, yeah,” Mike confirmed, his lips curled into a faint but triumphant smile as the tension cleared and the air finally eased into his lungs.

“Actually, you started a new schedule this week,” El chimed in, sliding to his side. “You work during the week **and** every other weekend, starting next week. Remember?”

His mouth dropped in a decline that was almost comical as his chocolate irises shot to lighter ones, wide and glowing in innocence. Her stare grew pointed with each second he held, her lips curving the same way they had plastered her face before he answered the door. Aside from its visible breadth. 

“Oh, right…” Mike gulped, his nod matching the tempo of his wife’s as she dipped her chin. “Yeah, I guess I… don't _have_ to do any work today.” 

“Great. The gear’s already loaded, so we can head out before noon and get back before four.” Jim beamed, his mouth quirking into a smug, merciless grin.

“And I’ll have the perch cooked before six,” El hummed, her gaze fleeting back to her husband. “It's been awhile since I cleaned your fishing trousers. Let’s go find where I put them.”

She tugged him across the room before he could protest, but he caught a glance at his snickering father-in-law. His frame shook with rumbles so deep in his chest, he could barely keep the grip around his fedora as it rose from his head. 

Stepping into their bedroom, El made a move toward the closet. Before her fingers could slip away, however, Mike tightened his hold with a soft squeeze, his other hand brushing against her middle only to press against her waist. 

“ **Eleven**...” 

His deepened timbre sent a current to her core, triggering a habitual wave of heat to blossom throughout every nerve. Her bones were jelly, and she was certain her heart was going to burst from her chest. Yet, she somehow found the strength to face his incoming accusation and that sly, ever so _bewitching_ smirk. 

“This isn’t one of his unannounced visits. You called him.”

El nipped at her lip, her line of sight drifting to his thumb as it probed over her knuckles. “Hop… He’s a guy, and a _good listener_.”

He sighed, though his release of breath sounded more like an incredulous scoff. 

“You don’t have to talk about the letter,” she conceded, her hand hovering to his jaw. “But you _do_ have to relax, that’s not negotiable.” 

“Your definition of stress relief is vastly different from mine,” Mike jested, snaking his arms around her as she cautioned him with a glare. “But doable. I’ll just leave the heavy lifting to Hopper. Business as usual.” 

El’s eyes were still narrowed, yet a quizzical smile slipped through her façade as she cupped his jaw, her soft fingers smoothing over the wrinkles in his dimpled grin. 

**_Later…_ **

The turquoise waves of Monroe Lake lapped across the shore, melting into the sand’s fibers. 

Water washed over Jim’s feet, but his legs remained firm amongst the melted dirt. He took a breath - his outdated lungs ingesting every ounce the tepid, brackish air - and submitted to the peace. A sensation he had struggled finding, and an even harder time in maintaining. 

It was strange assimilating into life after his captivity in Kamchatka. The months of brutal, bone-crushing labor, torture, and a restricted diet had taken a toll on not only his body, but also his mind. The physical pain he endured never compared to the echoing _screams_. Bloodcurdling pleas for mercy as a faceless demon stripped away at some unlucky bastard like he was pulled pork. 

**He** could have been its next meal, but he wasn’t. By some miracle, he survived along with those memories- and of how his insane daughter and her just as deranged friends saved his sorry ass not once, but twice. Getting out was half the battle, and coming to terms with it all wasn’t even a third of the war, yet he made it to the end of the tunnel.

It took time and patience, hours he could have just as easily spent sulking in that old, unkempt shack of his. Instead, he took up fishing, a long lost adventure from his youth. He embraced the way his hands used to grip that fishing rod, reeling in catch after catch. He even found ways to fill in the cracks of his method, something his younger self would have never been able to trade in for his pride. Today, in the moment, it was a worthy sacrifice for ensuring his legacy. 

Mike trudged up to the shoreline with heaving exhales, his steps shuffling under the weight of the cases of gear balanced within his grasp. They sunk to the sand like dead weights, freeing his fingers so he could mop up the water dripping from his brow. 

“I’m beginning to see why they call this damn thing a tackle box.” He crouched down to one box and detached its lid, air rushing to the columns of lures.

“It’s good practice for the kid. One minute she fits in your palm, the next she’s a bowling ball you gotta carry with both hands.” Jim reached for his fishing rod as it was offered to him, his stare roaming over the angle of the guide while his fingers found the reel.

A girl, **_his Sara_** , flashed into the forefront of his mind. It was a second, but it felt like a lifetime as he ogled at her frail, blonde hair and little blue eyes. 

“... you don’t even realize it until you have one, how much time passes.”

Mike’s fingers hesitated over the tackle box, freezing for just a second before clasping around the base of the squarebill. He risked a glimpse at his vacant features while he passed off the lure, but refrained from saying anything else. The atmosphere’s soft whispers spoke instead, blocking out the deafening silence. Soon, both men had their bait attached and launched their hooks into the water. All that was left to do was wait for the fish to take the bait, their gazes focused on the reservoir and its misty horizon. 

Jim took the peace in stride, glancing every few minutes or so at his rod. Then, Mike’s voice cut through the tranquil quietude. 

“How did you... _know_ when you were ready?” 

His steel blue eyes darted to much darker, narrowed ones, his mouth curling in astonishment rather than anger. 

“I **wasn’t** ready. Nothing can prepare you for something so… random. You never know what to expect, so you just gotta be a dad when the time comes and stick it out.”

“Yeah, but these parenting books we got also say that research is key. Plus baby proofing everything and getting the nursery...” 

Mike swallowed the remainder of his words at his father-in-law’s narrowed gaze, wincing as if he'd been impaled by the glaring daggers.

“Look, I just...” He shook his head and kicked at the ground, the tip of his boot launching a stone from its roots. “ **I don’t want to be like my dad**.”

Jim softened his glare, his thick eyebrows knitting above the bride of his nose.

“That’s the first place my mind went when El told me she was pregnant. I mean, he wasn’t the worst. Hell, compared to Billy’s dad, he was a saint,” Mike continued, taking a bite out of the inside of his cheek. “But if it wasn’t work related, he never made an effort. He wasn’t a husband or a father, not in the way it mattered and I… I _can’t_ be that, Hopper.” 

There was an intensity in his striking, dark eyes, something Jim hadn’t seen in over a decade. And yet, they held his attention, glossing over just as they did before he had pulled that bloodied, terrified kid into his arms. He’d sworn up and down it was **_over_ ** \- that all the hell they had survived those last few years had finally run its course - when he didn’t even believe it himself. 

In truth, he knew that there was no definitive way of defeating an interdimensional king and his army. No matter how many times they had stopped power hungry fools from opening another portal, there was still a whole other world on the other side. A foreign and much darker one than theirs, the literal stuff in those cheesy, weird fiction movies Hollywood kept hauling out of its ass. They could have kept fighting, but how many more years would that shave off their lives? 

How much _more_ youth did those kids have to give up for a measly one and a million shot at outrunning an inevitable end? 

None, so as long as Jim drew breath and Owens kept his word. 

“My old man was a piece of shit.”

Mike sniffed, his head cocking up from its downturned posture.

“The Army wrecked him so bad, he left us for the drugs and alcohol. Once I got out of high school, I enlisted. After that, I drank the same whiskey, smoked the same shitty brand of tobacco. But you know what I _didn’t_ do?” 

Jim hesitated, the steam emanated from his exhale tainting the air as it departed from his nose. 

“I didn’t leave my daughter when she had cancer, I didn’t give up on Will when he went missing all those years ago, and I **never** stopped watching over Eleven.” He finally met Mike’s gaze, squaring him with a look so fierce, it might as well have reinforced his paternal vigilance.

“You wanna be a good father, Mike? **_Be there_**. For the big things and the small. When they swear to your face that they hate your guts one day - even if the Devil himself tries to get in your way - you stay and you fight for them.”

He held Jim’s stare for a beat before breaking away, switching his attention to the lake as he considered the advice. That was a smart move on his part, because not even a minute after turning his head, something **_heavy_ **pulled on the end of his rod. Hard enough to jerk his lean shanks forward, deepening his stance in the churning shallows.

“Grab the reel and turn! There you go, now reel em’ in!”

His goading spiraled to Mike’s eardrums in booming, incoherent bellows as he gripped onto the handle with one hand while the reel gyrated under the other. He rammed his feet into the saturated sand and pulled, hauling his catch from the dark depths of the lake. It took two more rounds of tug of war before the gill-bearing critter finally leapt through the surface, egressing from its dense domain. 

“Holy shit…” 

Mike ogled at the fish as it wriggled, splattering drops of water in his face with its flapping tail. 

He did it.

He caught his first fish.

_He caught his first fish!_

“Hook, line, and sinker.” 

Jim steadied the beast, his giant hand palming against clammy, chartreuse scales. “Bass, not too bad for your first catch. But if I remember right, the missus asked for _perch_.”

“Yeah, I heard her,” Mike quipped, his lips curling into a cocksure sneer, “I’ll catch plenty, quicker than it's taking you to catch **_one_ **. Don’t tell me your skill is dying off with your hair.” 

Despite the hurricane swirling beneath his stare, Jim’s expression didn’t deviate from its fixed form. His mesh fingertips, however, opted for a change in pace. They glided around to the bass’s mouth and nudged the hook from its jaw. 

In the same beat, he launched the poor thing into Mike’s chest, whose smirk backpedaled to a grimace real quick as he fumbled with holding onto his rod and the fish's slippery exterior. 

His efforts were valiant, but that didn’t soften the blow to his ego as his catch flopped back into the water. In fact, his desperate dive after its rippling form drowned any ounce of pride he had left. 

“Yeah, not with that reaction time. You should work on that before the big day,” Jim prompted, a wicked glint in his blue irises as he stepped back into his space. 

**_That evening…_ **

Dinner went off without a hitch once they had returned to the apartment. The hours had dashed by with the rest of the world, time lapsing according to their set schedule. But in Eleven’s home, when she sat at the little table and enjoyed a meal with her husband and father - the two most important men in her life - time followed the hands of _her_ clock. A minute didn’t pass without warmth, laughter and smiles and pleasant chatter about everything good transpiring in their lives. 

Their topic of discussion shifted a few times, beginning with updates on how she and the baby were **really** doing - per request of Jim and his genuine interest. He shared his humble opinion on why it was best to know the sex before birth, but left it at that and proceeded to ask how their midwife was doing. Afterward, he enlightened them on the current state of their hometown. He strayed from the things they already knew, like how only half the previous population of people had a role in keeping Hawkins from completely imploding, and focused on his pursuits.

Other than taking his weekend trips to whichever lake pooled around the Midwest, he had been more involved with carpentry. Shortly after his exit from the police force - which took a cogent amount of coaxing from **_everyone_ ** \- he had opened his own workshop. Prior to that, he had plenty of downtime to sharpen his carpentry skills while he recovered from his clash with the Russians. Soon, he excelled from his basic knowledge of house repair to crafting anything and everything. Tables, chairs, cribs, even instruments. He was the bones of the little side project, until Joyce had joined him and turned it into a reputable business venture. 

Ever since, he had been itching to have a chat with whomever created the idea that work and pleasure didn’t bode well together. 

Jim stayed a little longer for dessert, overindulging in the slice of chocolate cake Eleven had offered him. Then, all too soon, their little gathering came to a close, and she found herself accompanying him to the door.

“I’m fixing that sink the next time I stop by, alright? Don’t even think about wasting anymore money on that drain. I don’t care what Dale **thinks** he knows, he’s just another jackass mooching off someone else’s paycheck.”

Eleven rolled her eyes but gave her consent with a nod as he shot her a look over his shoulder. The chuckle flowing from her mouth started off soft, but its air shifted toward the end, fading into a trio of forced chortles. A heaviness swelled in her throat, sinking right to her stomach as she watched her father fluff out the edges of his collar. Once he had turned to face her, freezing as his wide eyes met her misty ones in the middle, she knew he felt it too. 

No matter how often they said their hellos, goodbyes were always the hardest parts to exchange. Temporary or permanent, even after all these years, the aching in her heart never ceased. 

Brushing off the elephant in the room, Jim cleared his throat, choking down the mass at the back. 

“I heard his side of things today. He seems good, but you know him best.”

She followed his gaze, casting a quick glance to Mike as he cleared their table of the dirty dishes. “He’s definitely more relaxed, but I know he still worries. _We both do_.” 

“A little worry is normal. It never really goes away, but you barely feel it once you pass the rookie stage,” he assured with a tender, closed mouth smile, both of his hands cupping over her shoulders. “I wouldn’t stress about the “love” part, though. This kiddo has already hit that jackpot.” 

Another bout of laughter bubbled from Eleven, fading into her father’s chest as she leaned into his strong arms. She held onto his embrace for as long as she could, sniffling into the smoky leather of his coat. But it was a good thing, and good things always came to an end.

All too soon, she pulled away, adorning a dismal smile at his promise to call on Monday. Before she could even fully process his words, he had vanished from the doorstep. His resounding footsteps were the only trace of his existence, and once they dissolved into the crisp air of the hall, she had no other choice but to push the door back into its frame. 

She trembled, her watery eyes fluttering shut. A swift flitter of movement tap-danced within the dome of her swollen middle, evoking a slower pace in her breathing. In the middle of the last exhale, a pair of thin, yet heavy hands slid around her waist. The rest left her in an easy release, her palms brushing over his knuckles. 

“Don’t worry. I’m… eighty percent sure that his phone call will be another house visit,” Mike murmured, planting an audible peck to the patch of skin below her ear.

El exhaled a shaky giggle, her fingers entwining with her husband’s as he led her in a steady sway. Before she could get too comfortable with their dance, he switched up their movements. He slipped from her behind her back and slid past her side to meet her front, his thumb smoothing over the slick streak tainting her cheek. 

“But if it isn’t, I know a couple of ways to lighten the mood. One involves my dad's letter.”

His warm breath tickled her nose, but it was the flame from the words in his last sentence rekindling the fire in her eyes. 

“I’m not gonna open it,” Mike started, pausing to accommodate her deflating groan, “ **because** I don’t need whatever’s in it to know I’m gonna be different than he was. Better, even, and that is all thanks to _you_.”

El’s pout melted against his lips, relaxing completely as she succumbed to his whirlpool of warmth. Somehow, she had enough strength to fight it, wrenching her head back with a gasp. At the abrupt separation, a deep moan rumbled right where her palms had folded around his neck, luring the anticipated return of her sight. 

“And what else did you have in mind?” 

His swollen lips were pursed in pout, but it had disappeared almost as soon as it arrived, a smirk claiming its space. “Us, another slice of cake, a Disney movie, and something that includes pillows. **_A buttload_** _.”_

She cocked her head, her coy smile reaching her eyes in a bright, reminiscent sparkle. “We haven’t had a fort since you left for college, Mike.”

“Exactly! This would be the perfect time to bring it back. As one of our little family traditions,” he beamed, bouncing lightly on the heels of his bare feet. “What do you think?”

El matched his smile, her heart swelling beneath her chest as another flutter of kicks rocked her middle. Her hand found his, guiding him to her where her belly button rested.

“ _We_ think it's a perfect first tradition.”

**Author's Note:**

> You're still with me? Sweet, there's more to come! Stay tuned and bookmark this series for future updates!
> 
> Also, I've updated the adult fancast I posted in "I Love You More Than Baked Goods" for the Party. This is more of a reference for how they could look as young adults in this series:
> 
> Mike Wheeler - Adam Brody or Penn Badgley
> 
> Eleven/Jane Hopper - Natalie Portman
> 
> Max Mayfield - Kennedy McMann or Kathrine McNamara
> 
> Lucas Sinclair - Stephan James
> 
> Dustin Henderson - Shia LaBeouf, Jonah Hill (young), Jake Gyllenhaal (young), or Jack Black(young)
> 
> Will Byers - Leonardo DiCaprio (young)


End file.
